


Fine Dining.

by Munchie_kay



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Bottom Dean, Destiel Fluff, Harvelle's Roadhouse, M/M, Mary is dead, My First Fanfic, Sugar Daddy Cas, Top Castiel, destiel smut, it's for sure going to be a slow burn, john is m.i.a, kind of a slow burn?, maybe? - Freeform, more like season 1 dean, more like season 4 cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munchie_kay/pseuds/Munchie_kay
Summary: He can see the question in Castiel's eyes before he hears him say the words."What is it Dean?"Dean shrugs his shoulders and looks anywhere but at the other man.Castiel drops his head to the side, realization displaying across his face. "You don't think you deserved to be helped?" He says it as a question, but Castiel already knows the answer. Dean has always been hesitant on accepting his money, even when it's rightly deserved. Dean works hard, he knows what he's doing, but he never charges any more than the minimum. Castiel thinks that has something with the low value Dean has for himself.He's still young and sure he has kid like moments at times, but Dean is far more mature than he let's on. Of couse he is, he had an entirely different person relying on him. Dean's the provider in his family, the  selfless one, the responible one. It's that very same sense of responsibility that attracted Cas to Dean."Dean, you are far too beautiful of a person to work youself like you do. If you were with me you'd be in college, only working if you wanted to."**** The story in which Castiel is kinda a sugar daddy? IT'S A WORK IN PROGRESS OKAY.





	1. A Day In The LIfe

**Author's Note:**

> Let's start this off like any good destiel fic, on our hands and knees begging.  
> I'd like to beg ya'lls forgiveness in advance for any and all of my spelling and grammer mistakes. I'm a high school drop out who still gets confused when it's appropriate to use a semi colon and when to end a sentence. Plus, I can get real comma happy at times. I've never written a Destiel FIc before, but I do read them religiously. Honestly I have an addiction. It's a little odd being on the opposite end of the spectrum if i can say so myself. All I ask of you guys is to hang tight with me. Of course i'm going under the pretense that someone will actually read this. I'm not sure what would be worse, someone actually reading my crap writing or someone not reading my crap writing.  
> This thing isn't Beta'd but if anyone is willing to read what i have before I post it that'd be super helpful. I always get axnious about my writing so i'll rewrite the same paragraph 100 times. Just like i did with this super fucking long note.  
> Anywho, I'm not 100% sure where this thing is going but it's been aching at the tips of my fingers to be typed.  
> Fingers crossed. xx  
> Oh, and I don't own any rights the characters. All rights reserved for Eric Kripke. Is that what i'm supposed to say?  
> You know what I mean.

_Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick tock_.

           Dean knew good and damn well that staring at the clock wouldn’t make the time go by any faster, but damn if he tried anyhow. He had roughly 30 minutes left of his shift at Singer’s Salvage Garage, and only 45 minutes until he was due to pick up Sammy from school. Basically he was already running late. As he’d always seemed to be these days.  
          There was always the possibility of him managing to not hit every single red light on the way to Burkley County High School, but let’s be honest here that was unlikely to happen. Would be nice though. Being able to hit all greens would cut the typical 22 minute drive out there into a 12 minute ride instead, leaving Dean with a rare extra 10 minutes to hang with his brother before his evening shift at the RoadHouse.  
Sure, Bobby would let Dean off a little earlier if he asked. But Bobby had already been nice enough to hire Dean on right after he dropped out of school. Even after all of crap John Winchester had pulled. Not to mention, Dean couldn’t leave early if he wanted to. The rent is due in a week, and both the electricity bill and the water bill a couple days after that. So no, Dean wasn’t asking. He’d just have to suck it up and pray to whatever higher power there was listening.

            Work hadn’t been too busy today, really just a couple of oil changes and he dished out a couple sets of new tires. The main part of his day was the two hours he’d spent trying to rewire Mr. Boudreaux’s headlights. At first Dean had thought he’d blown the bulbs, but no. The old man had been driving his farm truck around not realizing that the entire time he’d had it, which was about a year, he’d been melting the switch. It was a bit of a bitch to fix and rewire, but Dean got it done.  
             Time dwindled down quickly as Dean picked up the garage floor. Thirty minutes turned to twenty, twenty to ten, and ten to him punching out his time card. With a quick “See you later” to Bobby, Dean left out the back door to his Baby.  
             He got in the driver side and cranked the ignition just feeling her come to life. Baby was a jet black 1967 Chevy Impala Hardtop pushed by a 502-cubic-inch big block V8 engine. And boy you could hear her purr from six blocks away. Other than Sam, she was really the only thing left Dean had of his old life. Many of nights he’d spent under her hood with his dad learning her inside and out. She held a lot of good memories, which could have someone to do with why Dean loved her so fiercely.  
          Much to Dean’s amusement he did manage to hit almost every green light. Only to get stuck behind some asshole going under the speed limit. It typically took a lot to really get Dean pissed off, but people who drove like they had nowhere to be and all day to get there was a weakness of his. That and people who would wait until they were about to hit the traffic cones in the construction zone to get over and cut you off. You knew damn well you had to get over like a mile back, yet here you are trying to squeeze in front of him? And may the Lord forbid someone wait until the last minute to get over and then go under the speed limit. If you can’t read to get into the next lane and if you can’t go the speed limit you shouldn’t be driving! It was as simple as that.

       Despite the minor ‘under the speed limit’ incident, Dean was earlier than usual to pick up Sammy. If it weren’t for the bat call, that’s what Sam had taken to calling Baby’s purr, Dean would think his little brother might be psychic. The younger boy had been at the pick up curb with a grin on his face ready to hop in before Dean had even come to a complete stop.  
      “You’re here early.” Sam said, “How many traffic laws did you break to pull that?”  
“Oh shut it, I actually went ten miles under the speed limit.”  
      “Yeah, I’m sure you did that voluntarily. What did you get behind an old woman?”  
“Nah.”  
       “Lair.”  
“Am not.”  
      “Are too.”  
“I would never!” Dean said with faked innocence.  
            “You mean to tell me you just so happened to choose to go under the speed limit on the one day you’re not running super late?”  
“I never said that.”  
        “You never not said it either.”  
Dean breaks into a smirk, “I’ll have you know I didn’t see if it was an old man or woman. However they were driving a nice ass car.”  
          “I’ll have you know,” Sam mimics Dean under his breath, “What model was it?”  
“1969 Dodge Charger, I think I even heard a twin turbo under the hood. Thing was in nice condition, almost pristine. Such a shame. I’ll never understand how someone could have that much muscle but not let it flex.”  
       “Remind me again how I’m the nerdy one?”  
“Shut your cake hole Sammy, you are nerdy. Don’t knock my talent.”  
     “Whatever you say Dean. Anyways, I was still right.”  
          Of course Sammy was right, he was always right. Dean didn’t introduce him as the smart one for nothing. His little brother was that kid who had literally aced every test since kindergarten. At the end of each school year Sam would ask each of his teachers what their favorite book was so he could read them over the summer and write a report on it. He was so smart it made Dean beam with pride.  
          Back when Dean was a freshman in high-school he had issues with algebra. John wasn’t a big help with homework, and Mary Winchester was always better with geometry. So there little nine or ten year old Sam was, teaching himself basic algebra with two of those “Algebra For Dummies” books from the library. All so he could help his big brother pass his math class. With all the hours Dean devoted into studying with Sam, he not only passed the class he became the top student as well.  
         All thanks to Sam.

              Dean often wondered how the two were related because they were practically polar opposites. Where as Sam enjoyed reading the book, Dean would rather watch the movie. Sam could teach himself new things, and Dean needed a more hands on approach. Sam preferred grass for supper and Dean wanted meat. Dean knew the difference between pie and cake, Sam did not. (Honestly, to be so smart the kid could be dense at times.) Sam liked the educational aspect of school, and Dean liked the social aspect.  
           Don’t get it twisted, Dean wasn’t dumb by any means. His moma would have thrown a hissy fit beyond compare if his report card showed anything less than a B+. Even though she was probably the sweetest woman Dean knew, she was also a hard-ass too. But she was a rewarding hard-ass. Mary had actually been so proud over his Algebra grade that she’d made him his very own Cherry Pie that he didn’t have to share. Though, in hindsight, he should have shared because he ate himself into a food coma. Couldn’t move a muscle fo about two hours.  
        Yeah, Dean made the grades, but he was more of a social butterfly. Is that a nice way of saying he got around? Perhaps. Dean was naturally very charming and could talk his way out of just about anything. With eyes as green as the forest on a bright sunny, a head full of dirty blonde hair, full pouty lips, and the shoulder/back ratio of a Dorito that could put Captain America to shame there weren’t a lot of people who weren’t attracted to him.  
         What? Did you expect him to be celibate? As if. It wasn’t a secret that Dean had a couple notches in his belt. But he wasn’t just a whore. He was friendly even out of the sexual tense. Dean didn’t know a stranger.  
He’d been abducted into the LARPing community ever since his childhood-bestfriend Charlie Bradbury had asked him to go. She was the firery red haired queen of MoonDoore and he was her trusty hand maiden, and has been ever since the first time. Even though Sam makes fun of him for it a times he’d have it no other way. It was nice to get out of his own life and get to be someone else every now and then.

         Dean had also been apart of the baseball team when he was in high-school. He wasn’t really interested in it at first, but the captain of the team, Benny Lafiette, had been pretty insistent on him trying out after he saw Dean pissy-pitching to Sam one day after school.  
           If we are being honest here, Benny had intimidated Dean at first. He was this big brick-house southern boy who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Once Dean actually got to know the guy they turned out to hit it off perfectly. Once you got past the cornbread fed build, Benny was a total teddybear. Always cool and level headed. Very respectful, “Yes ma’am, no sir.” held the door for any lady, and offered up his seat to the elderly, the whole nine yards. And when he spoke it sounded like you were being blanketed in warm honey. Not to say he couldn’t put you on your ass flat, because Dean had fought beside him in a number of brawls. Benny just preferred not to be violent if he didn’t have to be.

         When school and baseball would allow it Dean also dabbled in music. He grew up on heavy metal and hard rock, seeing as how that’s what John was into, so that’ll always sound like home to him. He’d actually been in a band for a little while, believe it or not. Nothing extravagant, a couple gigs here and there. Dean sang, and Cole Trenton played the bass. He was pretty cool, except for when he acted like he had a stick in his ass. Bela Talbot played the drums, and let Dean tell you now, that wasn’t the only thing she could hit. She and Dean had been a thing for a brief moment in time, but Sammy had harbored such a huge crush on her that Dean couldn’t stand the second hand embarrassment. Where as the babbling his little brother did in front of the older girl was adorable, it was also petiful.  
Dean had enjoyed all three of his band mates, but Garth would probably be his favorite. How ironic, seeing as how Dean couldn’t really stomach him for long periods of time in the beginning. Garth Fitzgerald was a tall lanky bean pole that was a little too forthcoming with P.D.A.’s. At first it made Dean feel unsettled, but it was just one of those things that you just got used to about Garth.  
         He had the natural personality of a crackhead, without actually being one. Dean couldn’t think of a time he’d seen Garth anything but upbeat and peppy. He was always willing to lend a hand, or an ear if you needed it. Overall, Garth was a damn good friend to have. Even if he was a lightweight. More for Dean, right? Not to mention, he could play the guitar like nobodies business.

          v“When is your shift tonight?” Sam spoke out.  
“I’m supposed to be there about fifteen minutes after I drop you off at the house, why?”  
         Sam inhaled a deep breath and scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Because dude, you stink. Like bad. Like really really bad.”  
“No I don’t”  
        “When was the last time you showered Dean?”  
  “Like two or three days ago? Maybe?”  
          “You can’t even remember the last time you took a shower? Yeah, it’s totally bath time for you.”  
It’s not tha-“ Dean began but cut himself off as the funk from his under arms hit his nose. “Yeah, no. You’re right. Guess I outta hop in the shower when we get home, huh?”  
        “Only if you plan on making any tips tonight.”  
              Not really, it was a Thursday night. The Road House shouldn’t be too full, then again stranger things have happened. Dead or not, Dean still needed a shower. Had he smelt like that all day? How the hell had Bobby stood by him?

          The boys bicker and banter for the rest of the car ride home. A little about homework assignments, some about the garage. But mainly about the new girl who just transferred to Sam’s school. Jessica Moore. Sam had all but told him the wedding date with little hearts in his eyes.

    “She’s got this golden hair that hangs in ringlets down her back, and when she smiles it makes her nose crinkle. And she’s so smart. Like smarter than me. Dean I swear, I’ve never seen a girl so beautiful in my life.”

“You said that about Ruby Viking too, ya know?”  
         It’s true, Sam had gone on about Ruby for a while. Thank God he’d grown out of that phase though. Dean had known her older brother Alistair way back when. Had even considered him a friend at one point of time, but they didn’t stay close. Alistair got into some heavy drugs and mixed into some shady things so they split pretty much. Now let’s just say that the apple doesn’t fall too far from the brother.  
Sam gives him one of the signature bitch faces he’s mastered. There’s hundreds of them by now. Dean can’t really recall ever being given the same bitch face twice.  
          “ Okay Rhonda Hurley.” We won’t speak of that.  
“Bitch.”  
        “Jerk.”  
          Baby finally pulled into her designated parking spot and Dean killed her engine. Both boys climbed out of the car and walked up the steps to their home. It wasn’t anything fancy. Not by any means. Just a plain two bedroom, one bath apartment that put a roof over their heads. Dean had wanted this much bigger place. It was a 3 bedroom, 2 and half bath, and you could use the swimming pool and gym areas whenever you wanted. His wallet said not so much though. But that was okay. Sam was pretty pumped which made Dean excited about it. It wasn’t much, but it was home.  
         They had an xbox one that was hooked up to one of those huge old projector screen t.v’s, a corner couch that took up most of the little living room that they had, and a table that held Sam’s homework for the moment. They did have a small dining area where they ate supper every night, together or separate. Mom had been pretty strict on eating at the dining table so it was one of those things they just did.  
The kitchen wasn’t very big. Actually if Sam got any bigger, which he was bound to, they both wouldn’t be able to be in there at the same time. They were already pushing it as is.  
            There was carpet that ran from the living room entrance, down the little hall and into both the boys’ room. Call him silly, but that was Dean’s favorite part about this place. The home they grew up in was mainly wooden or tiled floors which was freezing to walk on during the winter.  
Right past the kitchen to the left was Sam’s room. He managed to make it look spacious even though his bed and desk table took up most of it. Dean would bet twenty bucks right now that the bed was made in there. Sam very seldom let his room get dirty, he couldn’t stand clutter.  
          Across from Sam’s room was the bathroom, and then a foot a two down from there was the laundry hamper. This was one of the few apartments in the complex that had a washer and dryer hook up. Another thing Dean was excited about. Paying for the washateria could get pricey. It’s amazing what you find pleasure in when you become an adult.  
           Down at the end of the hallway was Deans room. He did splurge just a little bit to get himself a king bed with memory foam. “ _It remembers me, Sammy_.’ He’d said with a toothy grin. Dean keeps his room clean like Sam does, mainly out of habit. John Winchester was strict about most things but even more so about everything being tidy and efficient. The one and only time Dean had ever disobeyed his fathers rule about cleaning his room before going outside to play John had torn him a new one. Dean not so much as walked out of his room into the hallway without making sure it was clean after that.

       “Hey Dean, have you eaten today?” Sam asked as Dean walked into the bathroom with his clothes and towel in hand.  
“Uh, yeah? Brought some pb&j’s to work for lunch. Why? You making something?”  
     “Thinking about it. Macaroni, corn, and weenies sound good to you?”  
“Sure.”  
           Dean had gotten pretty creative with food when he’d first gotten custody of Sam. There was the romen noodle stir fry, the tomato mayo sandwhich, marshmellow fluff and mac&cheese. That last one was not a hit, though Sam had humored him by saying it was ‘exotic.”  
Macaroni, corn, and weenies just so happened to be one of the better meals Dean had made on the spot. Money had been pretty tight at first. More often than he not Dean would go without eating to make sure Sam had enough. No big deal, that’s just what big brothers do.  
Dean scrubbed the filth off his hands, and rinsed the soap out of his hair. He’d have to buy more shampoo here soon. He’d tried to talk Sam into cutting his hair that way they wouldn’t go through it so much. Sam had just rolled his eyes and said ‘bite me”. Worth a shot.  
Making quick work of drying off and getting dressed Dean walked out of the bathroom to find his little brother had already made him a to-go bowl to eat during his shift.  
            “Thanks Sammy, I really appreciate it.” And Dean really did. Sometimes he gets so caught up in work and trying to take care of Sam that he forgets to take care of himself. Like skipping a shower so he could catch a couple extra z’s. Or skipping packing his lunch because he has to get Sam to school on time because one more tardy and it’s the truancy office they go. Using the last bit of laundry soap to wash Sam’s clothes because looking good at school is more important than looking good at a garage.  
    “Sure thing Dean.”  
“Bitch.”  
      “Jerk.”  
        With that Dean left out the front door and headed to the RoadHouse.


	2. One Last Call For Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like complete and utter shit for taking so long to update! A million apologies you guys. Thank you for all the kudos and hits, they make my no no sqaures all tingly. So without any more hesitation, here's chapter two. Promise to have chapter three up later this week if not sooner! <3  
> p.s please forgive an errors.

                     Harvelle's Roadhouse was owned by the most hardworking woman Dean had ever met, Ellen Harvelle. The place had originally started out as a dream of her husbands, but in the early days of living the dream Bill passed away. Hunting trip gone terribly wrong. Devastation had really taken it’s toll on Ellen, she’d almost gone completely bankrupt and lost the bar. Jo, Ellen and Bill's daughter, was young when the incident happened, still in pigtails. When you have someone else to care for, especially someone that young, you can’t really allow yourself to break down like that. Something Dean could sympathize with. With her daughter as her motivation, Ellen turned their entire situation around. Now The Roadhouse was one of the more popular bars\dining lounges in at least five counties. Monday through Thursday were usually their ‘dead days'. They drew in enough traffic to keep entertained, but never really occupied.

 

                The weekends were where the place really shined. Ellen typically had some type of theme going on, whether it karaoke, movie trivia, or drinking contests it never failed to draw in a crowed. Most of the time there’d be a good deal on drinks and there was always a live band playing each weekend too. That’s how Dean was introduced into The Roadhouse. Garth’s uncle had swung them a gig one weekend when Ellen’s original band had called out. It wasn’t a far drive, maybe three hours, and it was one of the only gigs they did out of there own town. Ellen had been skittish at first, but once Dean let out the first note of “I can’t quit you babe”, by Led Zeppelin any anxiety she had melted away. After the show she offered them food and a couple drinks on the house. They were all still too young for anything stronger than beer, but to a couple sixteen and seventeen year olds that was more than enough.

 

              After everything happened with his mother, and then his father, Dean found himself crawling through the doors looking for employment. Ellen was a little disappointed that Dean wouldn’t be singing, but she hired him as a server and bust boy none the less. Then at nine-teen when Dean could get his liquor license Ellen let him pick up bartending. It didn’t take long for Dean to flourish in that position, quickly learning how to earn himself a nice tip and maybe even a good lay or two. Pretty soon he managed to work himself up to lead bartender. Which not only meant more hours but a better schedule as well.

 

                 “Haven’t made off with half the female population while I was away, have you Winchester?” Jo asked as she walked through the double doors that lead from the kitchen with a clean rag hanging out of her butt pocket. The two hadn’t worked together in about a month seeing as Jo was in college. Ellen wasn’t very fond of Jo working at the bar during the school year, but Jo had talked her into it saying something about how expensive school books were. Reluctantly Ellen agreed, but only if Jo kept her grades up.

 

           

            Dean faked hurt with a gasp, “You know you’re the only girl for me, Joanna Beth.”

              Jo scrunched her nose at the sound of her first and middle name. Only her mother called her by that and most of the time that was when she was going into ‘super mom mode'. She hated it and Dean knew it. “I’ll be sure to relay that message to Charlie.”

     

         “Don’t you go spreading gossip to my Queen,” Dean laughed. Jo rolled her eyes and called them both nerds, but she wore a small smile on her face as she said it. LARPing wasn’t exactly her scene but every once in a blue moon she’d tag along with him and Charlie.

 

                 Dean met Jo that first night his band had played at the bar. She was about fourteen and the exact opposite of what he was used to in the female gender. Typically girls threw themselves at his feet, with an exception of Charlie of course. To say Dean was a little surprised to be met with Jo's left hook after saying something without thinking would be an understatement. Ellen was furious at first, but after Dean intervened and explained what happened she high-fived her daughter. They’d been friends ever since.

              The pair bonded over their love of deadly weapons, sports, and anything deep fried in freedom. If a clogged artery didn’t take him out first, he was sure rough housing with Jo would. The girl was tough and fought dirty. Recently they toned down on the violence, per request of Dean after he’d accidentally given Jo a black eye. Granted, Jo sported it with pride and assured Dean it was fine but he still felt guilty as hell. Instead they’d struck up a semi friendly game of “who could pull the better bartending tricks”. Which surprisingly caused less damage than either of them thought.

 

                    “What did you do to deserve Ellen’s wrath?” Dean asked as he crouched down and started wiping down the shelves with the fruity syrups on them. It’s unbelievable how sticky those things got if not cleaned frequently.

 

    “Oh my God, I overslept.”

 

          “My spidey-senses are telling me you’re not telling the full story here.” he goads.

 

     “I may have missed a class,” Jo starts with a wince,” and possibly missed a test.” Dean breaths a laugh and shakes his head. Honestly Jo brought it on herself, she knew how anal Ellen was about her schooling.

 

     “Don’t give me that, Winchester!” she exclaimed with an huff.

 

    Dean rolls his eyes, checking the ice bin after finishing the shelves. “I didn’t say even anything. ”

 

    “It's not what you did or didn’t say, it’s about how you said it.”

 

            "That doesn’t make any sense if I didn’t say anything. She's your mom, Jo, she’s just looking out for you.”

 

             “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know Dad.”

 

      “Oh yeah, call me daddy, “ Dean winks with a dramatic shiver, “You know what dirty talk does to me.”

 

         Jo fake gags but laughs none the less at him.

 

         “So dirty talk does it for you, hm?” inquired a deep, gravely voice from the other side of the bar.

 

        Dean looked up from the task he was doing , witty reply on his tongue, but whatever he was going to say dies in his throat. The man taking seat before him wore a dark suit that looked like it was tailored to fit him like a second skin (and if the watch on his left wrist was any indication it probably was.) The start of a five o’clock did nothing if not draw attention to his full lips, partially chapped and sitting in a knowing smirk. Dark unruly hair stood up in all directions like someone had spent the better parts of last night and today running their hands in it, and not in frustration.

 

           But it was his eyes that really stopped Dean in his tracks. Brilliantly blue. Not like summer day sky blue, or the blue your tongue is after eating a blueberry snow cone. More like the color blue you can only see when you’re fighting to get above the ocean water after you’ve been pulled under by the wave. It’s the kind of blue that takes your breath away, forcefully. With darker flakes the deeper you go, but vibrant and alluring around the surface.

 

                  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dean replies lamely with a sheepish smile and tingling cheeks. Tingling cheeks? What was he? Fifteen? Get it together Winchester!

 

     

           The man quirks his head slightly to the features filled with amusement, “Well yes, I was under the impression that when someone asks a question it’s because they would like an answer.”

           

          Jo laughs at Deans stuttering expression, it’s a rare occurrence for someone to come in and make Dean flounder for words. “I like you,” is all she says to the man before taking off to the kitchen. Great, now he’ll have to prepare the bar for this weekend by himself.

 

         “What, not going to offer to buy me a drink before asking about my kinks?”

 

            “I thought it to be redundant seeing as how you’re the bartender.”

 

        “Point made,” Dean says with a laugh,” What can I get you man?”

 

     “Two Irish Car Bombs, if you’d be so kind.”

       The bartender scrunched his nose at the order but didn’t discourage it. Irish Car Bombs weren’t exactly Dean’s go to choice of poison, but the drink did have a purpose. With half a pint worth of Guinness Beer, a shot glass filled with both Irish whiskey and Bailey Irish cream you had a drink capable of getting you wasted not only quickly but efficiently as well. Dean passed the man his drinks and watched with modest astonishment as he dropped both shots in each glass and downed them one after the other without so much as flinching. A low whistle escaped his mouth as blue eyes wiped his mouth. Dean’s witnessed his fair share of drinkers, hell he put up with John after Mary passed, but even they puckered their faces at the taste or their drinks. And here sat this guy, no older than maybe twenty-seven, downing one of the nastiest concoctions Dean’s ever laid witness to without so much of a blink of his eyes.

 

         “Rough day, man?”

 

              “It’s Castiel.”

          

           “Huh?”

 

            “My name, it’s Castiel, not man.”

 

        “Oh, yeah. I’m Dean.” Sputtered the bartender. “Rough day then, Cas?”

 

             “What makes you ask that?” The man inquires with slight puzzlement on his features. Dean just raises his brow and looks pointedly at the two now empty glasses and back up to Castiel. “Would you believe me if I said I liked the taste?”

 

       Dean snorts a laughs, “Way to avoid the question.”

 

               Cas huffs a full body chuckle at that, a small smile tugging at his lips. The fabric from the suite he was wearing stretched around his chest at the motion giving slight appreciation to the muscle that it hid. The damn thing really did fit him like a glove. Dean felt the wind knock out him, even if only a tiny bit. Jesus, you’d think he was a fourteen year old groping his first set of breasts with the way he was responding internally. (and externally for that matter)

        “Care to share with the rest of the class?” Dean grins in Castiel’s amusement.

 

           “Not particularly, no.”

 

       The two bask in the somber silence that’s cloaked around them for a minute or two before Dean his called back into reality by the cough of another patron. Dean didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Nah, Rufus was a regular here at the bar and Dean didn’t have to ask his order. Rufus always got the same thing, Johnnie Walker Blue Label.

 

           Like the attentive bartender he is, Dean asked Castiel if he needed anything else before making his rounds to the other people who started to fill in the bar vacant seats. When Cas requested a double whiskey on rocks and the t.v showing the news be turned up Dean was happy to oblige. Dean fell into his trademark role of bartender easily. He shamelessly flirted with the women, young and old, and he casually joked around with the men.

             When he wasn’t taking orders or bantering with the patrons Dean took to preparing the bar for the weekend. All the taps had to be cleaned out and Dean always double checked to make sure the nozzles were on there all the way. Tessa, one of the part time bartenders, one time didn’t check and the damn thing leaked everywhere. Ellen wasn’t hadn’t been pleased.

 

         After that Dean organized and restocked the produce with all the newer items being stored behind the older to insure nothing got wasted. The glasses were a constant thing that needed to be cleaned and dried, as was the bar table itself. Dean disinfected the sinks and folded the clean rags. The floors behind the bar stayed pretty clean during the week day but Dean made a mental note to sweep and mop before leaving tonight anyways.

 

          Jo was actually a server, but if her area was dead she’d pop behind the bar and make her way through each of it’s occupants. Doubling at the shop and at the bar on the same days often led Dean to be tired by the end of the night (though he’d gotten good at hiding it). So if Jo wanted to come help him out a little bit Dean didn’t protest. Working with Jo was fun anyways. They often through snide remarks and sarcastic insults at each other which proved to be funny for everyone. Jo was a welcomed company.

 

            By the time closing came Dean realized he hadn’t seen Castiel leave. A small frown made it’s way to his face, he’d wanted to talk with him more. Or atleast said bye. Guess it was his own fault for getting carried away with cleaning.

 

           As if sensing his inner turmoil Jo spoke up. “What was that guys name from earlier? Casteel—“

 

                 “Castiel,” Dean corrected.

           “Yeah, him. You know he watched you like a hawk all night, right?”

              Dean rolled his eyes,“No he didn’t, he was watching the news.”

              “Oh blow it out your ass, Winchester. Just because that’s what he was doing when you checked on him doesn’t mean that’s what he was doing when you turned around. The man was practically eye-fucking you!”

            “JOANNA BETH.” Ellen yelled.

              “I swear she has super hearing or something!” Jo exclaimed. Dean just snickered because he was certain Ellen had super hearing. That woman could hear a whisper under a breath from across the room.

               Dean made good on his reminder to clean the floors before emptying out his respective tip jar and counting his extra earnings. Each bartender had their own tip jar. Ellen didn’t believe in splitting tips evenly. In her eyes if you were the one putting in the effort you were the one who deserved the tip. That’s how Dean found himself, sitting in a stool, counting crumbled ones and a couple fives, and a one hundred dollar bill paper clipped to a napkin. 

 

                         _I'll take your silence as a yes_

_-Castiel_


	3. Of Course He Carries Around Cards With HIs Information On Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are seriously spoiling me with all the feedback! Sorry I'm literally on the deadline of a week (i think) but I'd stayed up writing this chapter right after posting chapter two and I was going to post it as is but decided agaisnt it. Super glad too because it was only half as long and I wasn't nowhere near as happy with it. I told you guys, it was going to be a slow build type thing so my apologies for the lack of clothes.  
> Forgive any errors, feel free to point them out and i'll fix them.  
> Anywho, kudos and comments really make me no no squares all dewy.

The weekend flew by without too much incident. By that Dean means that Charlie drank a little too much after her Harry Potter Trivia triumph and that he and Jo only broke a couple dozen glasses in their ‘who’s the better bartender’ show down. Other than that, nope, the work weekend at the Road House had come and gone like usual. Nothing drastic happened and nobody major came in. Well, other than Benny had stopped by with a barely showing Andrea in tow.  
Yeah, that last part shocked Dean a little bit too. He and Benny were both twenty-one, which Dean thought was a little too young to be springing children. Kind of hypocritical considering Dean’s been caring for Sam since he was in the early days of seven-teen, but perhaps that’s why Dean is perverse on the idea. Despite his own adversity on the matter though Dean was over joyed for his friend. Both Benny and Andrea were incredible and they’d been head over heels for each other since freshman year in high-school. If there were any two people on earth that could make it, it was those two crazy kids.  
God damnit, no! It’d been dirt in his eye, not tears when Benny asked him to be the god father.  
“Look what you’ve done for Sam,” had been Benny’s response when Dean asked why him.  
Fuck it, fine. It’d been tears.

Dean was off from the bar on Mondays and Tuesday, and then he got off early on Fridays and had Saturday and Sunday off from Bobby’s. Which loosely translated to Dean not really having any days off, but Saturdays and Mondays were Dean’s favorite “off days”. On Saturday mornings he’d get up and make him and Sam breakfast and they’d go down into town for a little bit. Sometimes they went to the race track, others to the arcade, but most of the time they went to the park. The two brothers would pack a lunch for a picnic and whatever gear they needed to play. Usually it was some gloves and a baseball but sometimes they’d switch it up with a frisbee or soccer ball. They’d spend all morning and into the early afternoon outdoors playing around and catching up.  
Monday mornings were generally hectic. There’d be rushing over breakfast and morning routines and then speeding through yellow lights to ensure Dean made it to the shop in time after dropping off Sam. But Monday nights were the best. Sam had a study session after school so Dean didn’t have to stress about running late to pick him up. Once they got home and settled in, Dean and Sam would spend some down time playing the x-box before their hunger got the best of them. Dean would make his way into the kitchen and throw together some grub while Sam did whatever homework he had left. After, the two brothers would lay up on the couch and watch movies until passing out.  
Dean relished in those Monday nights and early Saturday mornings. Even though the two siblings lived together Dean felt like he never really saw his little brother. Back before mom died and dad split the two brothers spent a great deal of time together. Dean hadn’t been one of those kids that despised his little sibling. No, he loved everything about baby Sam when John and Mary had brought him home.  
For the first six months of Sam’s life Dean would sneak his way into his little brothers nursery and sleep, perfectly content with listening to the younger Winchester’s soft snores. John tried to get Dean to stay in his own room but Dean refused. After a while John quit trying to force it and decided to enjoy the scene with Mary every morning.  
Dean was a great big brother. He threw away diapers, wiped down hands and mouths, and he threw a fit to feed Sam himself. When Sam got old enough, Dean taught him to ride a bike and he kissed the boo-boo’s that came with it. Sam didn’t go far without Dean tagging along. On more than one occasion John had to make the late night trip to one of Dean’s friends house for a sleep over that fell through because Dean missed his little brother.  
It was by the grace of God that Dean was eighteen when John split. The father John was once upon a time was swallowed up by the man grieving the loss of his wife. After the accident Dean was pretty much forced into the role of both mother and father, not like it bothered him. That’s what big brothers do, they step up to the plate.

Another Thursday made it’s way to date and Dean found himself hoping that Castiel would come by. With no sign of him all week Dean knew it was unlikely but he wanted to speak with the other man. The tip Cas left has been burning a hole in Dean’s pocket all week. He really wanted to spend it, Sam could use a new pair of shoes, but he couldn’t. A hundred bucks was a lot of money that Dean felt like he hadn’t earned.  
With ten minutes left on the clock Dean had given up. It’s not like Castiel had said he would be coming back. For all Dean knew the man didn’t even live here.  
The sound of someone sitting down at the bar did nothing to draw Dean from his task of drying and putting the glasses. “Last call was five minutes ago, man. We’re getting ready to close.”  
“Don’t suppose I could get you to make an exception?”  
Dean hesitated with his task, but didn’t fully stop. “What’s the word, Cas,” Dean asked, hoping to seem disinterested with a quirk of his brow.  
The other man tilted his head to the side in slightly,” It’s the shortened version of my name.”  
It was like the stress of the week just melted away and Dean couldn’t help the chuckle that passed his lips. Castiel didn’t join in the laughter, but he did smile at the bartender. It was a bright grin that further relaxed Dean. “I didn’t think you’d show.”  
Castiel perked up at this, his smile dancing on his lips. “My apologies, Dean. I wasn’t aware you were waiting for me.”  
“Well yeah,” Dean spits without venom,” you left somethin’ of yours here last time.”  
Castiel is taken aback and shakes his head, he doesn’t remember leaving anything. But when Dean takes his wallet from his back pocket it clicks with the man.  
“This is yours,” Dean says as he slides over the hundred dollar bill that’s been eating away at him to blow.  
The other man’s mouth opens and closes it couple of times before a displeased scowl makes its way to his features. “I’m surprised you haven’t spent that.”  
“Trust me, I wanted to. It’s been burning a hole in my pocket all week.” Dean says with a shakey laugh.  
“Then why haven’t you?”  
“Because it’s not mine.”  
Cas inhales deeply, his chest filling out and Dean does not internally drool, and then he exhales. “Dean, where did you find that?”  
“In my tip jar?”  
“If it was in your tip jar, wouldn’t you agree that makes it your money?” Castiel retorts.  
I can’t take it, I didn’t earn it.” It’s not like Dean didn’t want the money, but he wasn’t one for hand outs. With the clothes Cas wore and the way he held himself and how he talked mad Dean feel like it was a hand out.  
“How do you figure?” Genuine curiosity replaced the scowl on Castiel’s face as he observed Dean. Castiel sat with his spine straight his hands in his lap. The grey suite he wore gave less imagination than the black one he wore the last visit. This one too fit him like a glove, but where as the black outfit hid the grey one expose. Dean could see every dip and cut of each muscle in the man’s arms from the dark shadows the grey suite casts. His hair was still wrecked and Dean was beginning to think that might be it’s natural state. But again it was his eyes that really struck Dean. That incredible sea blue that bore into him like he was searching his soul and it made Dean’s lungs burn.  
Or maybe they were burning because Dean forgot to breath.  _My name should have been Deanna because I am such a girl._  
“I was distracted, working on the bar and beginning prep. Most of the time Jo was the one mixing drinks. Hell, I didn’t even say bye to you when you left.”  
Castiel ponders this for a moment before speaking again, lips pursed and eyes still trained on Dean. “Your lady counterpart mainly babbled with the customers you already assisted. I only witnessed her brewing one or two drinks. Where as you did what you call prep the bar,” Castiel went as far as using hand quotations, “chatted with the patrons, and made drinks.”  
“I do that Wednesday through Sunday, it’s nothing special.” Dean responds.  
“Maybe not to you, but the way you handle each person is special.” Okay maybe JO was right and Castiel had been watching him throughout the night. But Dean will be damned before he gives her the satisfaction of being right though. “You greeted most of your customers by name-“  
“I know them all so duh-“ Dean interrupts  
“My point,” Castiel continues,” You greeted them each by name and made them feel welcomed. Then you proceeded to multi-task between prepping,” again with the hand quotations,” and running the bar more than adequately.”  
“That’s a hundred bucks worth though!”  
Castiel shrugs his shoulders, “Well I thought it was, and isn’t the customer always right?”  
“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”  
“No, it was rhetorical. I do want you to take the money though.”

Dean refuses the money, all but demanding Castiel take it back. The other man isn’t happy about it, but he does it anyway. As way of making up, Dean offers to make Castiel whatever he’d like to drink on the house. Could you believe he ordered the same thing, again? Two Irish Car bombs. Castiel offered Dean one, but the bartender politely declined he had to drive home. Better to not risk getting pulled over and Baby getting impounded.  
Castiel leaves after his drinks, bidding Dean a far well as the bartender stows away the glasses.  
Dean closes the register after one last sweep of the bar. His little sit in with Castiel took longer than he realized as he found himself alone in the bar counting out his tips.  
Handful or two of one’s, couple five’s, and much to Deans hilarity and exasperation two one hundred dollar bills.  
 ** _Perhaps you could buy trousers without burning pockets?_**

**_-Castiel_**  
                       
Well the man was nothing if not persistent, Dean confessed.

 

It’s another month before Dean sees Castiel again, but this time it wasn’t at the bar. Dean would have preferred that environment to that of the shop. Not that Dean didn’t love the shop, because he did, it was like second home to him. But at the Road House Dean was at least clean. Here he wore a grey jumper to protect his already holy jeans and partially stained white t-shirt. Grease covered his hands, sweat soaked his hair, and Dean was pretty sure a mix of both streaked his face.  
And there walked Cas out of the waiting room and into the bay. The man looked completely out of place in his black suite and- Is that a trench coat? It’s like 90 degrees out here!- Bobby, either to oblivious to Dean’s embarrassment or not caring, leads Castiel to Dean.  
A look of recognition and surprise flashes across Castiel’s face but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. “Hello, Dean.”  
“What’s the word, Cas?” Dean smiles cockily. Castiel dips his head to the side, small smile gracing his lips at the inside joke. Bobby watches the two men before him, silently putting the pieces together before breaking the silence.  
“Castiel here refused to believe me when I said only the best would be working on his precious Angel and demanded to meet the mechanic who would be working on her. But it looks like you two already know each other.” Bobby says with a pointed brow aimed at Dean.  
Dean blames the heat he feels from his cheeks on the weather and not the look Bobby is giving him.  
“Yes,” Castiel speaks with a sly grin,” we’ve been acquainted already.”  
“Right,” Bobby huffs,” I’ll leave you two to it.”  
Bobby retreats back into his office, happy to leave Dean to answer all of Castiel’s questions. Normally Bobby was the one who dealt with the customers and Dean did the tool work. Seeing as how Dean was more of a front man in his night job it didn’t bother him one bit for it to be different here. Bobby answered the phones and lined out the gigs and Dean got to sink himself into whatever engine needed sinking into. It worked well.  
The mechanic went about washing his hands. The smell of Fast Orange makes it’s way to his nostrils and Dean is hit with distant memories of his dad. John worked at Bobby’s too while Dean grew up. How many cars had they worked on together in this same bay? How many times had Dean jammed his fingers or skinned his knuckles bonding over the love of all things cars with his father? Dean doesn’t think about John often, not sense the man left, it does nothing but piss the boy off. But here with that smell, Dean can’t help it but miss his old life. Things had been so simple back then.  
After the third wash Dean decides his hands are just stained, not dirty, and he walks out around back with Castiel to see what needs to be worked on. Oil changes, new tires, realignments, and the occasional slipping belt were Dean’s typical gigs, but something about Cas told Dean that this wasn’t going to be his typical.  
Arriving around back Dean just about falls to his knees at the car in front of him. Resting there -yes resting because this poor car is wrecked- lays the same beautiful 1969 Dodge Charger that Dean got stuck behind not two months ago. Except it was all wrong. The front windshield was shattered, the passenger side door caved in, the interior littered with snags and cuts from what Dean assumed happened from glass shards, and the midnight blue paint job was scratched to hell and back.  
Dean did an open mouth back and forth gesture between the wrecked car and the man standing beside him. _**Did Cas do this?**_  
The man shook his head answering Dean’s unasked question. Okay, Castiel looked fine because he was fine. It wasn’t him who ruined this beauty. _**But who?**_  As if reading Dean’s mind again Castiel delved further into and explanation. Turns out Gabriel, Cas’s brother, visited and borrowed his little brothers car -without his persmission= and got side lined by another vehicle.  
“Jesus Christ Cas, is he okay?” The sight of the car brought back unwanted flashbacks of the accident that killed Mary. Baby had been in a similar state after that, so it only made sense to expect the worse. Castiel didn’t answer at first, just silently hummed to himself.  
“Gabriel is fine, he walked away with a no more than a scratch.” There’s a sound of distaste in Cas’s voice and Dean doesn’t know how to respond to it.  
“Well, uh-,” he starts,” I bet you’re glad he’s okay.”  
“Not really, no.” Castiel’s answer stops Dean in his tracks. Dean gets being upset about his car. Hell, if Sam so much as breathed to close to Baby Dean would throw a fit, but he would never wish his brother harm. “You mistake me, Dean,” Castiel says, again reading Dean’s impressions,” Where as I feel relief that Gabriel is okay and alive, I am distraught because this isn’t the first time my elder brother has gotten lucky like this. I do not wish death on him, just perhaps if he were to learn his lesson.”  
Yeah okay, Dean can get behind that. That makes sense. “Well, you could always press charges,” jokes Dean  
A deep chuckle blooms from Castiel’s throat and Dean is certain he could listen to it on repeat. Grinning widely at the mechanic the man wipes his face and melts from his stoic posture and relaxes. “Yes, I hadn’t thought of that.”  
“I’m always spewing out good ideas.” Okay, except for the time Dean suggested Benny go down the escalades at the mall by the rails. It’d been hilarious but the seven stiches Benny had to get afterwards declared it a bad idea. Then there was the time he road on the hood of Garths car while Garth drove it down the road at night. One hell of a ride, but Dean discovered getting hit dead on by mosquitos at forty-five miles per hour was not fun. And okay fine, climbing the fire tower with Lisa seemed romantic until the cops came and cuffed them both. Not what Dean meant when he said he was into restraints. Mary had been livid about that last one.  
The two men talk over parts and what Castiel wants done. Dean just about falls in love when Castiel agrees that the car is a classic and should be built the exact same way as one. Not that he had her all douched up to begin with, but hey people change. Sam once requested Dean install and Ipod jack and Dean didn’t look at his little brother the same for a week. Certain things you don’t do to a classic. Dean dinked around under the hood for a couple of minutes, mentally making a list of the parts they’d need.  
“I’ll have to order some of the parts, I’m assuming expedient delivery won’t break your bank?”  
If Cas notices the condescending tone of Dean’s voice he doesn’t let on. “No, that’s fine Dean. Whatever you think best.”  
Of course it’s fine. Castiel obviously had money to spew. He’d left Dean a two hundred dollar tip for shits and giggles. Dean held onto that money for two weeks before finally relenting and spending it. Sam didn’t ask question, learning not to, about his new shoes but thanked Dean none the less. For the first time in a while the Winchester’s fridge was fully stocked. It was a nice feeling but it ate away at Dean when he lay in bed at night. Dean hadn’t earned that money but here he was spending it.  
The men made their way back to Bobby’s office to sign paperwork and order the parts Castiel handed his silver card over without any hesitation when Dean told him the bill. Dean could only dream of being that financially stable.  
After the I’d were dotted and the t’s crossed Dean walked Castiel out to spare car. Dean tried to hold in the laugh, he honestly did, but he couldn’t. The man was driving a fucking prius.  
“How- how-“, Dean tried but faltered in his laughter,” How can you have that,” Dean points to the back of the garage,” and this be your spare?” He knows it’s not that funny. If anything this was what Dean was expecting in the first place, but to have that once upon a time beauty back there and then this as his extra just blew Dean’s mind. And to make matters worse, Castiel’s response was, “Priuses are really good on gas, Dean.”  
Dean loses at this point. The mechanic doubles over in full blown out laughter. Finally, Dean understood that ‘it’s not what you said, it’s how you said it’ phrase Jo is always saying. Because Castiel said it so serious and stern faced like he couldn’t fathom not having a Prius for a back up.  
“I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.” Dean says as he catches his breath. Castiel didn’t laugh because he didn’t get the joke, but he smiling blindingly and giving Dean that knowing look again.  
They sit and eye each other quietly in the silence. The blatant staring would usually unnerve Dean but he’s starting to get accustomed to things being unusual with Cas. It’s calm and peaceful, tranquil even, and Dean wants to bask in it. It’s been a while since Dean’s felt like this. It’s a nice feeling, but all good things must come to an end.  
“Alright Cas, unless there’s anythi-“  
“Actually yes,” Castiel interrupts,” I was curious as to if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight?” Dean almost agrees immediately because of the hope in the other man’s eyes.  
“I can’t”,” he says instead.  
Castiel masks the disappointment that hints at his features well,” My mistake, I just assumed-“  
“No man, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just I spend time with my little brother on Monday nights.”  
“Oh, well then perhaps another time?” Cas smiles warmly.  
Dean voices his busy schedule to the other man and is surprised when Castiel hands him a card with his number on it.  
“Text me when you’re available and we’ll plan something then, okay?”  
Dean admired the man persistence.


End file.
